


Making Connections

by oldmythologies



Series: Miscellaneous Voltron AUs [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Original Character(s), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and he's perfect, dog park, his name is finn, the oc is a dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 04:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12101160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmythologies/pseuds/oldmythologies
Summary: Shiro has a very good pup for emotional support and Keith is dog-sitting for Allura.





	Making Connections

There were nicer, cleaner parks out there. There were parks that didn’t smell like dog all the time, with artificial green grass instead of dust and dirt, parks with drinking fountains that didn’t sit on the ground, flowing into a bowl, where you wouldn’t end up covered in slobber and dog hair; those parks were absolutely no fun.

Finn still had trouble with the dog park. He didn’t snap at the other dogs anymore but never knew how to approach them. Most of their time here consisted of Shiro, sitting alone on a bench, throwing a ball as Finn chased it down the field. They never did much socializing, but that was okay. They had each other, and most of the time, that was enough. Shiro could never put the joy he felt in this broken dog’s simple happiness into words. He felt like he was finally making up for some perceived slight against the world, bringing this one precious spot of life a little bit of something good.

Finn would run, grab the ball, and hold his head up high for a moment before trotting back to Shiro, proud of his accomplishment. Shiro’s left-handed throw was getting better every single time. His smile was getting wider, his shoulders getting lighter, his eyes getting brighter. It was a cheesy thought, and Shiro reminded himself every time he looked at his dumb happy dog and his dumb happy face how cheesy it all was, but this dog probably saved his life.

He threw the slobber covered ball once again, surprised at how it almost reached the back fence, and watched Finn do his standard happy “I got the ball  _ so good _ ” dance. Shiro smiled and leaned forward, ready for Finn to come straight back for the next round, when a white blur sped out of nowhere and knocked Finn over with a yelp.

Shiro was to his feet and to his dog’s side in a few short strides. When Shiro had chosen him from the pound, Finn had been a shivering mess who whimpered at every touch. He didn’t want to see what would happen when a traumatized attack dog was attacked.

The other dog’s owner followed the beast, yelling in a rattled voice.

The scene Shiro was greeted with was better than he had expected. Finn was standing up, ears flattened, eyes down, only shaking a little bit when Shiro pulled the german shepherd to his chest and pet down the center of his head, just as Shiro knew he liked. Finn nuzzled into his owner and looked back at the menace who had attacked him.

The yellow lab who wouldn’t stop shaking with excitement was the last thing Shiro expected.

“Platt!” he heard someone shout, panting.

Shiro looked up at the owner, holding four leashes, three attached to dogs of varying sizes and breeds, and one that dragged behind him with an empty collar.

The man knelt next to the massive lab and slipped the collar on, eyes fixed on the dirt.

“I’m really sorry,” he mumbled to the ground, “I didn’t know he could get out like that.”

Shiro blinked at him and pet down Finn’s back, head now perked and sniffing in the direction of the new intruder. He should be mad, he really should be. This guy should be more careful, should know that pups like that with fat necks and stubborn attitudes could always slip out of a collar, but when the owner looked like  _ that _ , Shiro couldn’t find it in himself to be anything but mildly perturbed. The owner glanced up at him.

His eyes were literally purple, holy shit.

“It’s okay,” he started, chewing at the words, “no harm no foul.”

Purple eyes nodded. “You sure? Your dog seemed pretty spooked.”

Shiro looked down at Finn to be met with waiting eyes and a head turned almost straight up and Shiro started scratching the exposed neck.

“Finn’s had a rough time of it, but he’s a lot better now.”

Shiro smiled at the stranger who responded with a little lip quirk of his own. Shiro didn’t know why he was holding eye contact this long with some stranger while sitting in the dirt at a dog park, but neither knew they were stuck there until Platt barked at his lack of attention. Finn jumped a bit before settling and Keith rocked back, looking at the ground.

“I’m really glad your dog’s okay, and I promise to be a better dog sitter in the future.”

The man stood up, black hair shining in the sun, and clicked his tongue at the dogs (who did not listen and had to be dragged to the benches).

Shiro stood next, not sure to feel about the interaction and watching him walk away nonetheless. Shiro looked down at Finn and Finn looked up at him. Shiro sighed.

“Long day, bud.”

He left the dog park that day without getting his name.

When Shiro got to the park the next day, the dog sitter was already there, his team of four dogs rolling around in the dirt and bringing every other dog in the park into their pile of wagging tails.

The dog sitter was sitting on  _ his _ bench. On Shiro’s bench.

Shiro had a moment of panic.  _ The therapist told me routine was important. I have to sit on that bench, or, or… _

His inability to come up with a consequence if he didn’t sit on that bench only heightened his panic.

Finn leaned against his leg and Shiro realized he could still sit on the bench, even if someone else sat on the other side of it. he knelt down, unbuckled Finn’s collar, and watching him run up to the playing dogs and watch them wrestle. He wagged his tail, unsure, before the smallest of the dog-sitter’s party ran up, smelled Finn up and down, let Finn smell her, and then bounced back into the pile. This time, the german shepherd followed.

Shiro sat down, left hand down first and lowering himself down. His prosthetic was firmly in his pocket.

The dog sitter had one arm crossed across his chest, the other holding a phone as Shiro saw him mindlessly scroll up. Social media, probably.

_ I can do this,  _ he thought.  _ Dr. Adams said I have to make connections. Just do it. Do it, Shiro. _

“Hey,” he started.  _ Fuck, be cool _ . He coughed. “Aren’t you the guy from yesterday?”

_ Nailed it. _

The guy looked up at him and when he turned to put his phone away, Shiro saw, instead of the familiar layout of instagram or twitter, a long block of text.

He gave Shiro a small smile, locking the screen and putting it in his pocket. He extended his right hand, the universal sign for a handshake.

“Hey, I’m Keith.”

Shiro stared at the hand. He had known this would happen. It was a very realistic prosthetic and he kept it in his sweater pocket most of the time, the guy—Keith—couldn’t have known he didn’t  _ have  _ a right hand.

This was getting awkward.

Shiro was just so awkward.

Shiro pulled his prosthetic out of his pocket and held it next to his face, shaking the static hand and awkwardly smiling.

This was just so awkward.

Keith nodded, and pulled his right hand back. Shiro’s heart fell.

Then Keith extended his left hand. Shiro grabbed it, grip not as firm as he’d like it to be but better than before.

Keith could swear that the man’s smile shined.

“Shiro.”  

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a twitter? hmu [@oldmythos](https://twitter.com/oldmythos)!


End file.
